


That Touch of Kink

by Monsterunderkilt



Series: The Manse [41]
Category: Actor RPF, Celebrities - Fandom, RPF - Fandom, Real Person Fanfic - Fandom, Real Person Fiction
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-22
Updated: 2020-12-22
Packaged: 2021-03-11 01:28:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,248
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28246926
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Monsterunderkilt/pseuds/Monsterunderkilt
Summary: Sir takes my role-play bait... with sexy results
Series: The Manse [41]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1209447
Kudos: 1





	That Touch of Kink

“So _that’s_ your super secret project, eh?” I say as I sneak into the office and shut the door behind me. I point at him with mock accusation and smile. “This _Belfast_ film. Your most personal film.”

Sir Ken, sitting at my desk in a well-worn pair of jeans and another threadbare RADA t-shirt, pauses in the middle of pounding away on the keyboard and looks up at me with a comical frown. “Well, I wasn’t exactly keeping it super secret.”

“Ok, you were compartmentalizing it, anyway.”

Sir shrugs and holds up his hands, glancing between me and the computer monitor. “Darling, I know you’re a bit of a film swot, but the everyday business of filmmaking is rather tedious. I’d much rather discuss the artistry with you when its all done.”

I lean against the door and lock it quietly, still smiling at him. “I’m just teasing, Sir Kenny Ken. I of all people appreciate being left alone when in an artistic bubble.”

He leans forward in the chair, leather squeaking under his bum. “I thank you for that, Missus, I really do,”he says softly, with a strange detachment. His eyes are fixed on whatever electronic correspondence he’s engaged in at the moment.

I’ve never bothered him like this before, but I cannot help myself whenever I hear news about a husband’s upcoming work. I stand at the door a few more seconds, studying his unblinking, ultra-concentrated stare, but then I begin to slowly creep forward toward the desk. I’ve always adored his highly trained focus and dedication to his occupation, and seeing it in this moment of executing directorial minutiae is sexy as hell. As much as I’d love to seduce him away from it for a few moments, part of me hopes it’s an insurmountable task when he’s in this state, which just makes the challenge more titillating.

Stepping past the desk, I go to stand at the window a moment, admiring the view of the courtyard below. Tilda is about to start yet another yoga session. Alan and Ben are already setting up their mats, and I just hope she doesn’t wait up for me. I look back over my shoulder and see Ken has ceased his typing and is re-reading his missive, chin in his right hand, forefinger nervously twitching at his day-old growth of beard. It’s actually a little unnerving being around a silent Ken. He’s usually the most talkative person in the Manse once you even give him a whiff of some tangential anecdotal avenue to follow. All day long, he’s on the Zoom with some interviewer, blazing little rabbit warrens surrounding his new buddy Chris Nolan or Hercule Poirot or all the other quality shit he’s ever done in the past.

I narrow my gaze, a lioness in the grass. My feet make not a sound on the carpet as I move in behind him and hover my hands just over his hunched shoulders. I can feel the heat of his tension before I even rest my hands on him. My lightest touch is like a weight, though, and his shoulders relax beneath my fingertips. When I begin to massage his strained muscles, I can see in the slight reflection of the screen that he has closed his eyes with subtle bliss. I press deeply with my thumbs as if he’s a tough bread dough, but not even my best loaf ever made the satisfying little moan I’ve managed to elicit from him. If this leads nowhere else, I will be perfectly happy to have at least given him a reprieve of physical pleasure in the middle of his busy day.

About a minute of this quiet kneading goes by, but then Ken’s hand quickly shoots out to hit the “Enter” button and posts his email off into the world. That same hand snatches my arm and drags me into his lap, the swivel chair twirling in response to the change in weight and momentum. He catches me up in a luxurious kiss, massaging my shoulders in return for the favor. I melt under his touch like a chunk of Raclette du Valais.

“I missed you,” I say with what breath he hasn’t already taken from me. “Luckily Jon and Stephen keep me distracted while you’re on these obsessive work jags, but... Oh Kenny...” I try to hold him tightly against my chest, slowing his agile hands’ progress sliding up my shirt.

“It’s fine once in a while, sweetheart, really it is,” he says, his words as delicate as a bird’s heartbeat.

“Sorry, I don’t mean to distract you.”

“Sorry?”

I untangle myself from his embrace, laughing nervously, like a blushing coquette. It takes all my willpower to brush his hands off of me and leave him hanging, but I know it’s for the best. I give him a kiss on the forehead and begin to back toward the secret door in the wall leading to the bedroom. “I’ll leave you be. I’m sure you’ll find me when you’re actually ready for a break.”

Ken’s fiery eyes smolder in protest of the metaphorical water I just dumped on him. I blow him a kiss and he meekly does the same, watching me disappear. I emerge into the bedroom and take a deep breath, savoring the odd feeling of giving him a massive tease before ducking out. It’s exhilarating.

A few minutes later, I step out from the bedroom dressed in my yoga bra and pants, ready to join Tilda’s class outside. I casually carry my mat with me out onto the mezzanine but I don’t even make it halfway to the foyer stairs when the office door flies open and Sir snatches me by the waist, pulling me into the room. He slams the door shut and pushes me up against it, caging me, pinning my wrists at either side of me, his forehead touching mine. His nose flares and his eyes burn.

“Did I not warn you about interrupting me?” Ken says darkly, one arm now snaking around me, tickling the bare skin at my waist.

“Yes, Sir,” I say, my voice barely here nor there.

His other hand loosens from around my wrist but carries my hand to his lips, kissing my palm with a tenderness opposite of the hard intensity in his gaze. My secret trick to bring out his theatrics has borne fruit.

Anticipating where this little play acting is leading, I readily allow him to peel me off the door only to be adhered along the full length of his now hormone-taut form. He clutches at me, picking me up off my feet just enough to relocate us over to the big leather sofa. He lowers himself back onto it, supporting me so the only position I could possibly take is to straddle him as we sink into the cushions. His hands gingerly smooth over my hips as he kisses my neck, and it’s my turn to close my eyes and moan. But then I run one hand up the back of his neck and grab a handful of hair, gaining his attention.

“You’re really going to have to devise a stricter punishment for distracting you, Sir.”

Breaking character, a mischievous grin blooms. “Madam Director,” he says, nodding, “I am yours to mould.”

With the tiniest facial twitch, I give him permission to return to character and next thing I know, I’m smothered with as much distraction as I can take for one afternoon.


End file.
